


The Dancer in the Desert

by Demogoron



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Hutts (Star Wars), Sexual Slavery, Tatooine (Star Wars), Tatooine Slave Culture, Twi'leks (Star Wars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:21:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26308477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Demogoron/pseuds/Demogoron
Summary: The story of what happened to Oola, the twi'lek dancer, between the scenes of Return of the Jedi.
Kudos: 33





	The Dancer in the Desert

Chained to Jabba, chained at the neck, was a sad, pretty dancing-girl, a member of the Twi’lek species, with two dry, shapely tentacles sprouting from the back of her head, hanging suggestively down her bare, muscled back. Her name was Oola. Looking forlorn, she sat as far away as her chain would allow, at the other end of the dais.

[IMMEDIATELY AFTER ARTOO AND THREEPIO SHOW MESSAGE TO JABBA]

  
  


Bib Fortuna spoke in Huttese. "Master, bargonay tua Knight. He's no Jedi."

Jabba nodded in agreement. Still grinning, he rasped at Threepio, "Ha! mongo bargon wan chee kospah ooh. Solo thawt du mocky chalia! <Ha! There will be no bargain. I like Captain Solo where he is!>"

With a hideous chuckle he looked toward the dimly lit alcove beside the throne; there, hanging flat against the wall, was the carbonized form of Han Solo, his face and hands emerging out of the cold hard slab, like a statue reaching from a sea of stone.

As every creature in the room cackled, the two droids were marched briskly away, down a dark corridor that led to the dungeons.

The Hutt's eyes were glazed from using his hookah as he turned his attention to the hopeless looking dancing girl beside him, noticing her smooth, green back wantonly. Setting down his hookah, Jabba told the petite creature to come stand before him tugging lightly on her leash to emphasize his order.

Oola obeyed her disgusting Master, trembling slightly as she stood, looking apprehensive. She walked to her Master’s side as the Hutt drew in on her chain, watching her intently as she moved. 

As soon as she was close enough Jabba reached out with his stubby hands, hooking the lithe dancer's waist and pulling her against his rotund midsection. He chuckled over her soft gasp of protest. 

Jabba began to stroke her lekku, the twin, fleshy tendrils that hung from the back of her head. Like all twi’lek females, Oola’s lekku were sensitive appendages and her breath hitched at the Hutt’s slimy, unwanted caress. She kept her eyes downcast as the greasy hand moved away from her head tails to her shoulder, pulling at the flimsy net-costume she was forced to wear. 

With a callous tug Jabba moved the fabric and let it fall to her waist, leaving her exposed, left breast bouncing as it was freed. Jabba slobbered spittle down his malformed chin as he did the same with her right shoulder, his amber eye’s taking in the ample emerald bosom that was now laid bare before him.

He wasted little time indulging himself, his bulbous fingers sinking into her soft contours and pulling on the tips of her olive nipples. 

The voluptuous slave girl obviously didn't enjoy this like Jabba did, but she did anticipate it; it was a way of life that the females of her species were often forced to endure. Selling nubile Twi'lek women into sexual slavery was a booming business on her home world and Oola was only one of many beautiful creatures who found themselves chained to revolting despots in some ungodly corner of the galaxy. 

The females were practically bred to be subservient pleasure toys for the monster’s that owned them. Poor Oola was no exception, and even as she squirmed in repulsion, her body's instincts began to betray her. A quavering moan escaped her ruby painted lips as she endured her Master’s groping, her nipples growing rigid in his clammy palms.

Encouraged by his slave’s reaction, Jabba slid his warty hand down her smooth, flat stomach, down to the thin leather straps of the minuscule bottoms she wore over her netting. As the Hutt pulled on the straps, the twi’lek squirmed meekly against him in distress, her delicate features showing fear as she begged him to stop.

“Niuta Na... <Please no…>” Were the only words that left her mouth before her Master silenced her with a sharp slap to the right-most ass-cheek. 

The smack was audible throughout the room and left a fresh hand-print on the jiggling flesh of the cowed slave girl. Oola gave a small cry of pain and all objections she had to her treatment died on her lips. She lowered her gaze again and stood still to allow her Master to continue with his vile molestations.

The dancer had been a stubborn one throughout her stay in the desert palace. Her resistance made her a rarity amongst the many docile twi’lek courtesans Jabba kept in his harem and had earned her the collar and leash that she now wore around her slender neck. 

Jabba enjoyed spirited women… their utter disgust and their futile attempts to resist… it made forcing himself on them all that much more entertaining. But nothing was sweeter than when they finally broke and resigned themselves to their fate as his pleasure toys.

And it appeared after weeks of denying him, weeks of beatings and humiliation, Oola was finally ready to give in. As he slowly peeled her leather thong down his slave’s shapely thighs, Jabba’s tongue swiped across his drooling lips, relishing the beautiful twi’lek’s submission. 

Oola’s dark garment fell to the floor, and with it, the rest of her skimpy net attire. The shivering slave was now left bare against her Master, large olive breasts mashed to his sticky hide, naked ass wiggling nervously in full view of the gathering crowd of onlookers.

They cheered drunkenly, always in the mood to watch their grotesque patron defile one of his lovely pets. A few even had other slave girls on their arms, unwilling spectators as their bondage sister’s served their monstrous lord. 

While more degenerates joined the audience Jabba pressed Oola closer, his tongue sliding from his mouth towards her cheek. The dancer’s face pouted prettily in disgust and she turned her head away from the foul tip as it lathered her flesh in a translucent film.

As the Hutt’s rancid breath and filthy tongue overwhelmed his hapless slave, she failed to notice his right hand slipping between her thighs. Oola realized his intent too late and she let out a low groan of dismay as she felt his three bulbous digits begin to rub against her dark green vulva. Despite his clumsy appearance, Jabba’s fingers were surprisingly dexterous and soon he had his pretty twi’lek squirming against his hand. 

Jabba had owned countless slaves in his 600 years and had become quite knowledgeable on the anatomy of the female form. Even the most adamant slaves could not deny the shameful pleasures their sluggish Master’s horrific body could bring them. 

Even now the Hutt sultan could feel Oola’s buxom form soften and yield against him, her hips jerking urgently as he played with the slippery fold of her genitalia. Jabba slowly massaged her until she was weak and gasping, her petite hands gripping his wrist to steady herself. With the dancer now pliant and wet, he slid his thick middle digits past her erogenous lips and deep inside her love-tunnel. 

Oola's eyes opened, wide and watery, unable to control the pleasure now emanating from her core. Her lekku twisted around each other as she fell onto his stomach, her cries muffled against his blubbery hide. 

The gangster licked his lips as he felt the tight, wet walls squeeze against his probing finger, causing him to gently retreat his finger before pressing forward again.

The girl screamed as the Hutt succeeded in driving past the clutching passageway of her innermost membrane. His fat extremity swirled inside the deepest, most sensitive area of her sex, caressing and teasing the susceptible areas of her twi’lek anatomy. 

Poor Oola was like putty in the cruel gangster’s loathsome clutches. With each internal twist of his finger, her curves bucked and heaved against his fat, collecting the slimes and oils that flowed from his pores, making her olive skin glisten in the dim light. The dancer’s well-shaped ass bounced upon the grimy hand, giving the hooting crowd glimpses of the diseased limb within her dripping womanhood. 

They cheered in delight, shouting insults and salacious suggestions towards the throne. Most had spent hours staring at the slave while she lay on the throne or danced for her Master, fantasizing about ravishing her themselves. For now, however, the gorgeous twi’lek was reserved for Jabba, so watching the Hutt have his fun was the next best thing. 

Jabba purred wetly to his dancer, his tongue slithering between her face and breasts. As he teased the tip around her areola he felt her pulse quicken and her cunt tighten around his appendage. Her breathing became panting against his chins and her grip tightened around his arm. The Hutt knew the girl was close but he could also see, much to his amusement, that the female creature was desperately trying to hold her sexual climax at bay.

Tears of shame rolled down her cheeks, her teeth gritted as she squirmed against him as if to escape. It seemed that while her body had accepted her new role, Oola herself was still in denial about her purpose as his slave.

Jabba chuckled at this last, vain attempt to refuse him, sinking his fingers deeper into her ass flesh and pulling her closer. His deep voice murmured into her ear cone “Creema ta ma Schuttttaaaa… <Cum for me slave slut…>”

He then plunged a second, thick finger into her slit and pumped them quickly, eager to see her resolve crumble. Oola screamed, a sound of both despair and pleasure, her whole body quaking with the intensity of the sensation. She finally came, unable to resist her Master’s ministrations and her own body's needs.

Jabba continued to twist the twin appendages inside her, prolonging her shame while the audience cheered around him. After nearly a minute, her form finally stiffened and collapsed exhaustedly in his arms. Jabba cooed to his pet in Huttese, slowing his pace back to a sensual massage before pulling his now soaked hand from between her legs. 

To the amusement of the courtiers and the added defilement of the dancer, he brought his wet fingers to her trembling lips. The tips that had just been so intimately inside her now pressed against the plush rim of her mouth. Oola whimpered, too weak to put up even the most meager of fights, and opened to accept the soiled digits.

She suckled and licked them until they were clean only for the Hutt to slide his hand back to her crotch. She groaned in protest as he smeared his palm with her excretions and then brought it this time to his long, slurping tongue. As Jabba ran his tongue across the extremity, he smiled at Oola’s reaction, her face still pretty even in disgust. 

"Ta ku'nee muleera, schutta. <Your bodies taste is divine slave slut.>" He complimented her on the excellent taste she had produced.

Oola could only lay against her Master, looking wane and defeated. She silently prayed that her owner was satisfied and would allow her to slink back to the other side of the dais. There she could hide herself behind his tail until the next time he required “diversion.” 

But she would not even be allowed that small mercy. Despite his dancer’s apparent fatigue the Hutt was far from through with her. This had all only been foreplay to heighten his own nauseating arousal. 

"Cha tung oney-mank whirlee chat choo! <My pet needs music to dance to!>" Jabba suddenly bellowed out across the chamber. 

Quickly the audience scurried away from the throne, creating space around the metal grate set into the center of the floor. Enough room for a lithe twi'lek to prance about at the end of her leash.

While the court settled in for the next part of the show, the sound of tuning instruments could be heard as the Hutt's band made ready. The Palowickian lead singer and her backup performers rushed from backstage, taking their positions and waited nervously for the Monarchs next order.

"Yatuka choobies! <Play something for her to shake to!>" 

The musicians noded their readiness and the Palowickian stepped up to the microphone. 'Goo-nee-tang!" She belts from her straw-like mouth.

An exotic, soft beat was laid down by a bith playing a seven stringed hallikset, followed by the smooth sultry tones of the kloo horn, provided by a pair of rodian and kitnak members. Soon the music was joined by the erotic warbling of the singer, the women moaning into floating microphones that hovered over their stage.

It created a lewd, almost pornographic atmosphere in the congested room. Several dancers were forced to the center of the room, others onto tables, all reluctantly beginning to sway in their ineffectual costumes to the raunchy tune. 

While the throng threw themselves into the impromptu party, the festivities were still missing their main attraction, the dancer that still lay in the groping hands of her slug owner.

The Hutt’s lascivious focus once again turned to his lovely twi’lek pet who was watching the other performers apprehensively. “Whirlee Che ma, ma laya kankhee.<Dance for me my pretty little pet.” He murmured, gently stroking her long right lek.

The slave girl opened her mouth to beg for a moment to rest, but as her lips parted she could see her Master’s eyes narrow and nostrils flare in impatience. The sting of his slap was still on her cheek and her body still sore from what the gamorreans had done to her the night before, so instead of protesting, her subdued voice whispered “Tagwa Lordah… <Yes Master...>”. 

The twi’lek beauty then hesitantly leaned forward and placed a short, reluctant kiss on the drooling upper lip of the revolting gangster. Jabba rumbled in amusement and released her hips, taking grip on her leash once again. 

Oola peeled herself away from his viscous hide and stepped off of the lips of the dais to join the other slave performers. She began to undulate her nude sweat and slime slick form to the rhythm, the collar and chain still around her neck. The room erupted and the celebration truly began…

\-----

Meanwhile Artoo and Threepio marched dismally through the dank passageway at the prodding of a Gamorrean guard. Dungeon cells lined both walls. The unspeakable cries of anguish that emanated from within as the droids passed echoed off the stone and down the endless catacombs. Periodically a hand or claw or tentacle would reach through the bars of a door to grab at the hapless robots.

Artoo beeped pitifully. Threepio only shook his head. “What could have possibly come over Master Luke? Was it something I did? He never expressed any unhappiness with my work . . .”

T hey approached a door at the end of the corridor. It slid open automatically, and the gamorrean shoved them forward. Inside, their ears were assaulted by deafening machine sounds... wheels creaking, piston-heads slamming, water-hammers, engine hums… and a continuously shifting haze of steam made visibility short. 

This was either the boiler room, or some programmed hell.

\-----

Oola passionately spun her body, flinging her head tails and kicking her right leg athletically over her head. She twirled one direction, then strafed in another, her unrestrained breasts bounding with the momentum. The dark mass of onlookers shouted their approval.

Her costume still lay in a heap on the Hutt's dais, the only thing covering her nakedness was the thin layer of semi-dried grease left from her Master's molestations. It made her voluptuous figure shimmer as she twisted seductively under the faint spot light above the throne room. 

She was not alone on the metal grate that served as the stage for Jabba's dancers. Two other slaves, both in minuscule scraps of cloth and metal, joined her in debasing themselves for the crowd’s amusement, their bountiful curves nearly spilling out with each bounce and twist they performed.

One was a rare, blue-skinned togruta and the other a pale human with platinum blonde hair. Both were exceptional specimens of the feminine form, amply endowed in both hips and bosom, their dancing a truly erotic spectacle to behold. They would have been the crown jewels in a lesser gangster’s harem, but on this stage they were merely the backdrop for the true centerpiece of the Hutt's collection of gorgeous courtesans. Most of the attention was reserved for the glorious green dancer at the end of Jabba’s leash. 

In the throws of her performance, Oola was fantasy made flesh, her body and movements a testament to her twi’lek breeding and training. She writhed to the languid tempo of the music, every motion accentuated her assets as her hips undulating and pulsing in time with the bass. Every reverberation of sound sending ripples through her shapely thighs and olive mammaries. 

It was as if she was begging her audience to stare at her shamefully exposed intimacies, contrasting with the sorrowful expression she held on her face. She kept her eyes directed to the ceiling or the ground trying her best to avoid looking at the men around her and, more importantly, her Master. 

Jabba himself was fixated on his chained beauty, his eyes glued to her flexible contours as she desperately tried to please him. He bobbed and swayed on his throne and flicked her fiber tether to urge her to continue her arousing movements.

His tongue swiped across his chin as he watched her arch her back, the tips of her head tails kissing the floor, as her right legs lifted straight in the air. It earned him a perfect glimpse between her legs, to the slightly swollen clit within her wet slit. 

Jabba slobbered at the sight, his libido getting the better of his desire to see the pretty Oola dance. He gave a commanding tug on her leash eager to finally show his schutta what it truly meant to serve him. 

As the metal collar tightened around her neck, the slave girl was pulled off balance towards the dais. She stumbled but kept herself from falling, her head snapping up as she stared back at her Master. Fear was now etched into her lovely features, bottom lip trembling as she saw the hunger in his eyes.

“Da Eitha…” The Hutt lord breathed, beckoning her back to him. With drool running down his front he gave another, slightly more powerful, jerk to her chain.

The dancer anxiously gathered some of the leash in her hands, having suffered such invitations after each of her performances for Jabba. She knew what awaited if she obeyed, the slug’s fingers or tongue intent on defiling her yet again. But she was also intimately aware of the consequences of resisting. She had been whipped, beaten, experimented on by his sadistic droids, and given over to an entire barracks of savage gamorreans. For weeks the Hutt had slowly broken her.

So Oola did not fight and instead, with fresh tears welling behind her dark lashes, she allowed him to pull her across the room. She pranced over the lip of the dais and fell forward into his clutches, half-landing and half-climbing onto his enormous gut. Her arms sunk into the slug’s fat and her lower body collided with his doughy girth with a moist  _ plop _ .

With a soft groan of disgust Oola pressed herself further into his slimy folds, pushing her chest up his front and lifting her breasts to his scum caked mouth. It was Hutt's favored slave position, what the other harem women called the “Ta Shag’s Kuna”  _ The Slave’s Embrace _ .

Jabba's eyes widened at this show of submissiveness, lustfully encircling her curvaceous frame with his greedy hands. “Tooma Oola-Kankhee…<Soon Slave Oola…>” He spoke in a gurgling purr, his rancid breath washing over her. “...Ya nema loka nyan. <...You will learn to appreciate me.>”

With that he slid his fingers down around the thickness of her backside, sinking his grip into the perfect mounds and hoisting her further onto his bulging paunch. He gave a harsh squeeze to her pliable ass-flesh, eliciting a small gasp from this dancer, before slipping his grasp between her thighs. 

He met little resistance as he pulled her legs apart, spreading them wide around his midsection, her feet now completely off the ground. Her hairless cunny was exposed to the appreciative onlookers eyes, her vulnerable petals mashed against the ugly, mottled skin of her Master. This was another slave position Oola had learned during her training, but one she had never taken herself, “Ta Schutta’s Kuna"  _ The Sex Slave’s Embrace. _

Jabba’s huge black, tongue emerged from his mouth and proceeded to slop-kiss Oola’s face, hot drool smearing across her lips and down her lithe neck glomping beneath her collar. He slobbered his affection over her and then rolled his tongue down the front of her throat to her heaving chest, slavering over, under, and between the sizable orbs, caressing her nipples to erections, until they were slippery with his sludge.

Oola moaned into the Hutt's cavernous mouth, quietly begging in her Huttese “N...Niuta jeesha Lorda…<P...Please be gentle Master…>” 

Jabba only rumbled his amusement, his body quaking, continuing to slurp mercilessly away at her teats and rubbing the rough buds of his tongue across her sensitive nipples. The dancer screamed and wriggled in his grasp but made no other protest. Oola waited anxiously for what she knew would come next, for his fingers to slide inside her again or for her crotch to be pulled to his mouth so he could “taste” her. 

Air left her lungs as she felt something wiggle against her loins, pressing against her sex, but it did did not feel at all like her Master’s fingers. Her eyes flew open in confusion and panic rose in her like a nauseating wave. She quickly pushed herself from Jabba’s chins and twisted to look down behind her. 

There, slithering between her inner thighs, tip pointed directly towards her defenseless slit, was the slug’s long warted tail.

Oola’s face contorted in horror. In her naivety she had never thought, never even considered, the possibility of her Master using his tail to violate her. It was a massive appendage, the tip as thick as his fingers and only growing wider along it’s fat, ribbed length. 

She barely had time to process the horrid potential before she noticed the diseased skin at the end of the extremity begin to slide back. Oola could not contain a hysterical scream as a dripping pink organ emerged slowly from the tail’s end. It was rigid and layered in a thick, translucent ooze that seeped from the pustules that lined it’s extensive shaft. The bulbous, mutated head slid further up the Hutt’s belly, twitching eagerly as it came closer and closer to the squirming and squealing twi’lek beauty. 

Jabba relished his concubine's reaction, her screams of disbelief and terror only feeding his already voracious arousal. He always saved this reveal for last, slowly escalating to this moment with the many atrocities he forced upon his slave women. Just when they believed they had become accustomed to his cruel appetites he would introduce them to his inhuman member and truly initiate them into his harem.

He had waited for Oola long enough, sating himself with lesser slaves while he slowly broke her. For weeks he had methodically loosened her cunt with his other extremities in preparation for this moment. Now it was finally time to enjoy the fruits of his labor.

Like many before her, Oola was not prepared to accept this new level degradation and now tried desperately to escape him. Her struggle amused her Master; it required little effort to keep her lithe frame spread helplessly atop him.

Unable to free herself she was forced to endure Jabba's long, leisurely lick from her bare stomach, between her large tits, and across her distraught face. “Booossskkaaa...” He growled excitedly as he finished, leaving his trail of slime between her cleavage. Then without any further revolting “foreplay” he pressed his deformed cock against her tight, moist opening.

His tail met some resistance at first, her hole still stubborn despite his earlier ministrations. But with a few forceful wriggles, and a grotesquely sticky ‘pop’, he had forced himself inside her.

“N..Na! Niuta Lorda.. Niuta!<N...No! Please Master...Please!>” Poor Oola’s frantic pleas fell on deaf, merciless ears. Until this moment the most painful and humiliating moment of the dancer's life had been when her Master had used his fingers to steal her virginity on her first night in the palace. But now that paled in comparison as his awful tail-cock stretching her inner folds to an extreme she had not thought possible.

It was difficult to breath as it twisted and churned inside her, finding its way to the deepest part of her anatomy. She could only gasp and spasm in pain, grabbing at her master's fatty hide while her lekku thrashed wildly against her back.

Her pain added to Jabba's pleasure. The hutt groaned at the indescribable sensation of conquering the sweet slave’s ku’nee, her pussy-flesh enveloping and quivering around his engorged shaft in ways only a twi’lek female could.

Slowly he worked further until his tip began to kiss the entrance of her womb, each caress to the sensitive membrane causing her to clamp down even more tightly, to scream a little higher, and to squirm that much more passionately atop him. It drove Jabba wild. 

"Cumeela ra ta mi! <You belong to me!>" He roared, his eyes now practically glowing with lust. Gripping her hips tighter he began to slide her body up and down his slippery front while at the same time his tail began to pump inside her... each slow lumbering thrusts that caused the petite slave girl's assets to bounce and jerk deliciously against him. 

The crowd around them cheered as the disgust wet squelching sounds filled the room. Some had even pulled holo-recorders out to capture the moment, all while the band began to play a mockingly romantic tune in the background. 

Oola was unaware of all of this, too overwhelmed by pain and shame to summon any energy to resist. Within the first few horrific humps she was reduced to a slimy, limp doll on the Hutt’s belly. As he slammed her mercilessly against his tail, the force caused her emerald butt-globes to ripple and her saliva caked breasts slap against his many chins. The slave's hole leaked and dripped with the froth and yellow slime that coated Jabba’s pole, running down her quivering thighs. 

With each nauseating lurch Oola could feel her sex stretch and warp around his deofrmed shape, the discomfort waning the longer she was subject to to its corrupting presence inside. To the twi'leks humiliation she began to feel sparks of pleasure shoot up from her body to her lekku, an involuntary moan loosened from her slack lips. 

The defeated dancer could not hold back the feelings, no more than she could hold back the tears ruining her mascara. Oola was a twi’lek and though she had once dreamed of a life as a free dancer, Jabba’s tail had provided a harsh reminder of her true purpose in the galaxy. Twi’lek women were cock-sleeves for the degenerates of the galaxy, a vehicle to pleasure their eyes and disgusting bodies. Now that Jabba had fully claimed her body it would only be a matter of time until her mind and soul would follow after. 

Her resolve broke and she surrendered to the growing warmth spreading from her crotch. It was like a lewd mask was suddenly shifted over her features, Oola’s face softened and lips parted as she released a series of erotic cries over the music, her voice hitching with unrestrained arousal. Her lekku twisted passionately around each other and she began to churn her hips with his wild, ravaging thrusts. Soon it was apparent it wasn’t just Jabba’s slime leaking from Oola’s slit. 

Jabba’s eyes bulged at this dancer’s sudden enthusiasm, his grip loosening to allow her to move on her own accord. His tail soon found her desperate rhythm and each time she bounded atop him, another scream would rise out over the throne. The Hutt’s snake-like tongue slithered out again to taste the beading sweat along her breasts, pleased to see his broken dancer eagerly lift her bounding orbs to give him better access.

Oola shrieked deliciously at the feeling of his cool slime on her hot, naked skin. “"L..Lorda! Ah! Ah! Niuta! Niuta kriff jeesh hardah! <M...Master! AH! Ah! Please! Please fuck me harder!> ” She begged through gasps as the filthy tongue encircled and squeezed, lapping at her hardened nipples.

Jabba smiled grotesquely, enjoying her lewd request. He granted it almost immediately and began to pound her supine form harder, his tail a blur between her twitching legs. In response her mewling voice rose another octave, followed by the sweet splash of female fluid down his member.

Oola's back arched as her first tail-induced orgasm reached its peak, only for her to feel another begin to build inside her. Her pleading devolved into an incomprehensible mix of huttese and twi’lek, her mind broken by the delirious, disgraceful ecstasy of her defilement.

Meanwhile the audience had followed in their host’s example and had started pulling slaves from the dance floor to ravage. The togrutan and human girl who had shared center stage with Oola already had been forced into the throng, their clothes torn from their sumptuous bodies. The blonde was sandwiched between two gamorreans, sobbing as she was roughly jostled between their porcine bodies. The togrutan has been forced to her knees, breasts and mouth wrapped around the mammoth, leathery cock of Jabba’s chevin enforcer Ephant Mon. Several scrawny jawa’s stood close by, their tiny hands moving beneath their filthy robes as they watched her. 

The party continued like this, the music never stopping, it’s exotic beat fueling the hedonistic mood of the audience chamber. Atop his throne, Jabba had already forced nearly a dozen orgasms from his green slaves' lithe body, her cries of gratification becoming softer with each subsequent climax. Jabba’s wheezing breath was also growing quicker, and the motion of his tongue became more fervent as it slapped wetly against her gleaming teats. Suddenly he jammed his tail deep inside the dancer, the appendage spasming as his thick, abhorrent seed sprayed uncontrollable into Oola’s accepting womb. 

“Ahhh Lorda!” She went rigid as the warm sludge coated and filled her stretched ku’nee. His sperm quickly began to spill from the edges of her sex lips, even as he continued to pour himself endlessly inside her. Exhausted, Oola collapsed against him, eyes fluttering dazedly while the product of their copulation slid down his front to the stone surface of his dais.

Jabba gave a growl of satisfaction and leaned back in his throne, Oola fastened to his front, his slowly softening cock still stoppered within her. His pretty dancer had already fallen asleep on top of him and the gangster was feeling restful himself. The band noticed their Master’s more lethargic mood, and began to play a soothing tune while the rest of the court kept their debauchery subdued and quiet.

With the sound of the orgy around him, Jabba closed his reptilian eyes, already making plans for his slave once he had finished his rest. He would first send Oola to his bacta baths for a few hours to rejuvenate her ravished form. Once she was cleaned and ready she would perform again during his nightly celebration and then give a private encore in his personal chambers. There he would enjoy her for the rest of the night… or more likely until her body gave out again.

With these delicious thoughts floating in his cruel mind, he used his large tongue to scoop Oola’s breasts into his maw, drunkenly slurping on the heavy green globes as he fell into a restful slumber.. 

\----------------- 

Meanwhile in the bowels of Jabba’s Palace...

An agonized electronic scream, like the sound of stripping gears, drew the droids attention to the corner of the room. From out of the mist came EV-9D9, a skeletal droid with some disturbingly human appetites. 

In the dimness behind Ninedenine, Threepio could see the legs being pulled off a droid on a torture rack, while a second droid, hanging upside down, was having red-hot irons applied to its feet; it had emitted the electronic scream Threepio heard a few moments earlier, as the sensor circuits in its metal skin melted in agony.

Threepio cringed at the sound, his own wiring sympathetically crackling with static electricity.

Ninedenine stopped in front of Threepio, raising her pincer hands expansively. "Ah, new acquisitions," she said with great satisfaction. “I am Eve-Ninedenine, Chief of Cyborg Operations. You’re a protocol droid, are you not?”

"I am See-Threepio, human-cyborg re--"

"Yes or no will do," Ninedenine said icily.

"Well, yes," Threepio replied, taken aback by the abruptness of the droid overseer.

"How many languages do you speak?” Ninedenine crackled, continuing her line of questioning.

Threepio ran his most dignified, official introductory tape. "I am fluent in over six million forms of communication and can --"

"Splendid!" Ninedenine once again interrupted. “We have been without an interpreter since the Master got angry with something our last protocol droid said and disintegrated him.”

"Disintegrated!" Threepio wailed, jumping as another electric scream and a shower of sparks, came from behind him. 

Ninedenine spoke to one of the pig guards that had escorted the droids to her chambers.. "This one will be quite useful. Fit him with a restraining bolt, then take him back up to His Excellency's main audience chamber."

The guard grunted and roughly shoved Threepio toward the door.

"Artoo, don't leave me!" Threepio called out, but the guard grabbed him and pulled him away; and he was gone.

Artoo let out a long, plaintive cry as Threepio was removed. Then he turned to Ninedenine and beeped in outrage.

Ninedenine laughed. "You're a feisty little one, but you'll soon learn some respect. I have need for you on the master's Sail Barge. Several of our astromechs have been disappearing recently -- stolen for spare parts, most likely. I think you'll fill in nicely."

The small blue droid rocked back and forth worriedly as hot irons were brought down on the feet of a gonk droid near him, steam rising with the robot’s shrieking. 

\----

Several hours later...

Threepio returned to the throne room, newly polished and with a dark restraining bolt now fasted in his chest. The court hardly noticed his entrance, still enjoying a late-afternoon rest after the wild revelry from earlier in the day. Soft, relaxing music drifted out over the lounging crowd who had returned to the cushioned alcoves while fresh dancer’s from the harem jiggled their assets for their entertainment. 

Jabba himself was awake, the space before him momentarily empty as Oola had yet to return from the bacta bathes. His attention was currently divided between the datapad attached to his armrest and the gyrations of a particularly curvaceous Kiffar dancer, whose large afro and ass bounced synchronously directly before his dais. 

Drool leaked from the corner of his mouth as he looked up to watch her bend over, highlighting the white thong that flossed her clapping ass cheeks. His tail thrashed for a moment at the thought of calling her from the dance floor and sliding the frilly undergarment down her… But the Hutt resisted the urge, saving his lustful energy for when Oola returned to perform for him again.

More criminals, smuggler’s, assassins continued to arrive, with the audience chamber filling with their ranks as more preparation for the coming celebration commenced. Jabba would often hold several parties throughout the day but the nightly event was always the most wild and debaucherous.

Out of the corner of his bulbous eye, Jabba noticed the glinting gold of the would-be Jedi’s protocol droid, jostled amongst the boisterous crowd, looking lost and out of place.

”Talkoa droia! Clusee a nee. <Talk Droid! Attend me.>” The sound of his booming voice startled the jumpy mechanical being, who quickly made his way toward the throne as fast as his stiff legs could carry. The criminals parted to allow him room to join their master.

Clumsily ascending the stairs near Jabba’s dais, Threepio stammered “I...I am here your Worshipfulness. How.. can I be of service.” 

“Jedi droia, Jabba algo malcok gorka? <Jedi droid, what do you think of the Might Jabba’s court?” The Hutt asked as he swept his bulbous arm out across his audience chamber to the mass of criminals that had come to honor him.

“Oh..uh..” Threeipo nervously responded “Y..yes your lordship I have never seen such a display of...power.” 

“Your greatness knows no equal.”

Jabba gave a satisfied sound, a noise that was something between a burp and a chuckle. It gave him pleasure to force the Skywalker boy's former property to acknowledge his greatness. The Jedi-pretender would soon recognize his superiority as well, once he was captured and made to beg for his pitiful life.

He was looking forward to it almost as much as he was looking forward to Oola’s encore tonight...

Content for now, Jabba indicated for the Threepio to remain beside him, turning his attention back to the growing crowd and the graceful movements of his gorgeous concubines. 

In the next hour several prominent Crimelords came to the throne to pay tribute, giving gifts of drugs, precious metals, and nubile slave girls while Threepio translated Jabba’s words to his underlings. All hoped to gain favor with the slug lord but each time they were dismissed with indifference, Jabba becoming more impatient for the return of his favorite slave.

Eventually the Hutt's endurance was rewarded as the sounds of shouting and heckling from the chamber's entrance pulled his focus away from a Nemodian trader who was presenting a pair of twin blue-haired slaves. Among the masses Jabba could see a distinct emerald green that stood out against the dull colors of his followers. His tongue rolled across his warted chins and he eagerly waved the Nemodian away.

The trader and his gifts were hurried from the dais while a path through the crowd was made to the dance floor. Descending the stairs was a small procession led by the grinning Bib Fortuna, who held the end of Oola’s fiber tether in his clawed hand. The twi’lek slave followed close behind him, walking between two towering gamorrean guards while every eye in the room turned to stare lustfully over her.

Despite having endured her Master's advances only a few hours before, Oola strode with a graceful sadness to the chamber’s center. If possible she appeared even more luscious then before, the b'omoarr bacta baths not only healing her abused body but also making everything about the young slave appear smoother, softer… fuller. Even her breasts seemed to rest higher on her chest, almost buoyant as they bounced energetically within her meager mesh top.

Beneath the netting, Oola’s olive skin had been freshly oiled and perfumed, her nearly naked figure glowing under the spotlight. Oola’s make-up had also been reapplied, her lips painted a deep red and eyes shadowed in seductive purple. She was the embodiment of twi’lek sexualization, all at once erotic, demure, and submissive. She held her hands behind her back with her head low while the surrounding men hollered obscenities as she passed.

Oola could hear their shouting through her tight leather headdress. She understood only so much of their guttural alien jeering but enough to bring a tinge of a pink shame to her cheeks. The cruel, grinning faces surrounding the dancer had watched her beautiful body succumb and submit to the Hutt earlier that day... and were now hoping for another showing.

A few even tried to grab at her but the gamorreans kept them at bay until she once again stood in her owner’s nauseating presence.

With his gorgeous pet’s arrival, a thick mucous cascaded down his belly, making his font slick with anticipation. His hands greedily grasped for her leash as Fortuna presented the end of the binding to him.

As the slug closed his stubby fingers around the taught leash, Oola submissively fell to the floor. The twi’lek splayed herself out, arms stretched out towards her Master’s platform, sizeable breasts mashed into the sandy ground, and ass raised in the air. Without looking up she spoke the rehearsed phrase the harem trainers had whipped into her over the last weeks of enslavement... 

“Ma..Ma Ku’nee suvasa Lorda.<M...My slave body is yours Master.”

Jabba chortled in excitement, his tail stiff as he gave a light tug on her bondage, signaling for her to come to his side. “Da Eitha!” He exclaimed, emphasizing his desires.

Oola rose solemnly and stepped onto the edge of her Master’s cushioned slab. She slid her herself into his arms as Jabba’s tongue slopped out to greet her. The dripping appendage waved expectantly in front of her pretty face and the dancer, with only a slight whimper of disgust, opened her mouth to accept the scum coated tip inside her. 

“Oh dear.” Threepio groaned and turned his metallic body away, lowering his audio receptors so he wouldn’t have to listen.

The crowd erupted into crude whistles and hooting, fixated on the sight of the scintillating slave sucking the bulbous tongue of her lascivious Master. Her soft slurping and moanes echoed into the Hutt’s cavernous mouth as she squirmed submissively against the slug’s mid-section. Jabba pulled her even closer into the grossly passionate embrace, forcing his tongue further until he felt her gag around him. Hot drool dripped from their conjoined orifices and splattered down her ample cleavage.

With her air cut off she began to wriggle, becoming more desperate with each moment that Jabba kept his tongue lodged within her throat. Her Master enjoyed letting her panic for a moment, delighting in the power he held over her life. Just as her face began to turn purple he freed himself from her lips and once again allowed her to breathe. Oola gasped and spluttered, frothy white saliva running indecently down her chin while she tried to take in air. The sight was quite suggestive and Jabba’s grip tightened around her costume at the thought of her pretty mouth choking on his tail.

Perhaps later tonight...

For now Jabba seemed pleased, and after a last possessive lick, he gestured for her to lay and take her spot beside him. Not her normal place at the far end of the throne, but the pillowed space directly in front of him. The spot reserved for his favored slave once she had accepted her role as his concubine. Oola, it seemed, had finally earned this dubious honor.

Oola gently slid from his front to rest her hip on the cushions, legs tucked behind her, back straight, and chest pushed provocatively forward. She posed like a seductive trophy near her Master, a symbol of his power and virility and a reminder to all that while Jabba shared his wealth, he kept the best things for himself. No matter their stature, the sycophants in the room could only gawk over Oola’s luscious form and fantasize while their Master took his pleasure from her. 

With the show on the throne momentarily over, most of the audience returned their drinks, their gambling, and to the other more available slaves dancing throughout the room. A few eyes still lingering over Oola’s perfectly posed figure, fantasizing over what only Jabba could possess, watching the disgusting Hutt pet the girl’s long, seductive lekku with venomous envy. 

Only one being seemed to avoid ogling the statuesque slave girl... Threepio, who was still turned away from the throne. Jabba noticed the lack of attentiveness from his latest acquisition and gave a harsh slap to the metal back of the droid, causing him to cry out as he stumbled off-balance and nearly fell to the stairs.

Able to right himself, Threepio immediately returned to his rigid posture and returned to his Master’s side “Ah..I.. uh.. apologize your Lordship…How can I serve your magnificence?” 

Jabba gave a playful tug on one of Oola’s sensitive head tails so that she lifted her pretty face towards them “Oooohhh..Ta mola ibankar Oola-kankhee bekuki droia? <Oooohhh… What do you think of my lovely Slave Oola droid?” 

Threepio seemed taken aback by the question but answered it none-the-less. 

“Oh! Um… I am not programmed to evaluate such things but Miss Oola would surely be considered extremely beautiful by even the highest galactic standards...though I am unsure why her costume needs to be so… revealing...” As if to highlight his comment, a painful yank on Oola’s lekku caused one of her enormous breasts to slip out of it’s netting, hanging exposed in full view of the court.

Threepio was mortified for the poor slave and tried to busy himself by staring at the ceiling. Jabba, however, was quite amused and before the girl could readjust her scant covering, he had captured the sizeable teat in his clammy hand and squeezed tight.

While Oola moaned of discomfort, Jabba responded to the aghast Threepio. “Jee oone-uba ateema Droia. <You will see why soon enough droid.>” He then slurped his next order to Oola “Kava oare uba panwa lorda slagwa? <Why don’t you start to make yourself ready for your Master my sweet?>” 

Oola understood his request and gave a whimper as she opened her legs. Gingerly she pushed aside the leather covering from her crotch, revealing her green cunny to the cool air and eager eyes of the palace. Despite the earlier abuse she had taken from Jabba’s tail her sex petals now appeared pristine and untouched... besides one new addition.

A small silver ring now dangled from her erect clit, glinting in the muted light of the palace. A small charm was also attached to the piercing, a metal depiction of the Desijic Tiure Clan symbol, marking her intimacy as property of the mighty Hutt Lord.

It had been a painful and humiliating experience for the young dancer, held down by her fellow slaves while a cruel droid had impaled her sensitive bud with a hot needle. Oola’s harem sister’s had tried to comfort her through the process, knowing that what the poor girl must have endured and would likely endure again tonight. Jabba’s slaves only received their first piercing after they had encountered the gangster’s horrifying tail-cock, a tradition many in the harem had already experienced.

Threepio, still very much unused to the raw sexuality displayed in the palace, felt his protocol circuits begin to overheat to compensate for what he was forced to watch. “Oh My!” Was all he could muster and the dancer slid her lithe hand between her thighs. 

With a one last frightened glance towards her Master the twi’lek dancer began to stroke the outside of her lips, playing with the jewelry now decorating her sex. She released a breathy moan as she pleasured herself, her gentle ministration helping make her wet and receptive for the Hutt tail she would receive later that evening. The stiff appendage wriggled eagerly near Oola’s backside, and the dancer could not contain a fearful sob as it rubbed against her. 

Jabba grinned grotesquely as the smell of her arousal rose to his nostrils. The aroma was intoxicating and her lilting cries made for an excellent backdrop to the raunchy sounds of the Max Rebo Band. While his broken slave made herself ready, Jabba gave the signal for the party to truly commence. The musicians immediately kicked up into a more lively tune, dozens of new dancers made their way to their assigned tables and poles, and an array of topless serving girls arrived to dispense the drugs and alcohol that would fuel the remainder of the celebration.

The Hutt’s finest dancers gave their performances before his throne; a vibrant, orange haired Theelin gave a lewd rendition of her culture's traditional fan dance and then a young Chiss slave provided an exquisite show stripping multi-colored veils from her lithe body. But Jabba only half watched their titillating displays, with most of his focus remaining on the twi’lek squirming on the pillows near the base of his belly. 

The Hutt enjoyed teasing her with his fingers and tail as she continued to touch herself intimately for his amusement. If he ever felt Oola was not vocal enough for his liking, a firm jerk on her leash was enough to remind her to moan louder. He particularly enjoyed when, through her desperate gasps, he would hear her whisper “ _ Oh..Jabba Lorda! _ ” 

His tongue lathered the area around his mouth, growing more eager for the finale she would perform for him at the end of the festivities. 

Currently, the dance floor was occupied by a flexible troupe of purple twi’lek contortionists who twisted into erotic shapes around each other. Jabba was quite impressed as he watched them, their pliable forms allowing their tongues to reach intriguing areas of their bodies. 

While he continued to observe the bending beauties, the Hutt sipped on a large goblet of frothing brown alcohol, already his fifteenth glass of the noxious liquor. As he drunkenly sloshed and spilled his drink it was apparent that Jabba was starting to feel the effects of the potent brew, which was never good news for any of his slaves, particularly the luckless one leashed to his side. 

As the purple dancers finished their performance Jabba reached forward and tilted Oola’s head back, pouring some of his caustic beverage into her open mouth. Some spilled from her lips but she was able to drink most of what her Master gave her, the liquid burning her throat as she swallowed. When the goblet was finally pulled away Oola had consumed nearly a quarter of the drink, her head spinning as the highly alcoholic contents worked through her system.

Huttese grog was naturally strong to compensate for their species' massive size and ability to resist toxins. Oola’s comparatively tiny form was far more susceptible, something that was apparent from her dazed expression and the pink flush that was beginning to rise on her green skin.

The gangster rumbled mirthfully and finished the remainder of his drink, turning back to the stage to find that a curvaceous red-head had taken the contortionists’ place. She was a new girl, one of the dozens that were brought in daily to keep his stock of concubines and whores fresh. Most were cheap diversions, pretty enough to keep his guests’ attention but usually not enough to catch Jabba’s eye. 

This one, however, danced like a trained zeltron cafarel, her transparent blue veils rippling around her smooth, porcelain skin. Behind her cloth the human dancer held a coy smile on her lips, her flawless features framed by a mane of wild red locks. She was obviously not the usual Tatooine farm girl that his men brought in. 

Intrigued, Jabba checked the data pad attached to his armrest, scrolling through his recent purchases until he found her profile. Apparently her name was Arica, an offworlder his slaver’s had found wandering lost in Mos Eisley a few days prior. The naive girl had asked for their help and they had convinced her to come with them to his palace. It was a relatively common story for the hapless women that were enslaved to the Hutt.

But this discovery only left Jabba with more questions. If it was just her second day in his harem then why did she dance like she had been a pleasure slave her whole life?

No, the cunning crime lord was certain there was more to this lusty slave’s story, and he looked forward to learning more. Perhaps later tonight he would call her to his chambers so they could become better acquainted… and so that she could play with his pretty Oola after he had taken his fun from her.

He drooled at the thought of them together, their gorgeous figures pressed against each other, lips interlocked as his tail wriggled between them … 

As he continued to fantasize of the night to come, the red-haired slave’s number came to end. The music crescendoed and with a quick bow, she vanished back into the crowd. Jabba ensured to place her off-limits for the night, on the chance he decided that she should join Oola in his chambers later in the evening.

For now her departure had left the dance floor empty, and Jabba decided it was finally time for Oola to give her encore. He stared down at her expectantly, using the tip of his tail to nudge her soft back side and urge her off his throne to dance. “Whirlee schutta uma oto inkabunga. <Dance well and I will give you another reward.>” He purred.

Oola visibly cringed at the suggestion of a ‘reward’, but after another slightly rougher push from behind, she reluctantly slid herself from the dais. The twi’lek subtly shifted her costume back over her crotch and quickly wiped her wet fingers on one of the cushions as she stepped onto the dance floor, applause and crude cheers erupting from all around the room to greet her.

“Boscka Lapti Nek!” Jabba called out and the band quickly prepared their instruments to fulfill his request. Soon the jazzy beat of “Lapti Nek”, the Hutt’s current favored song, filled the space with a lively and bawdy atmosphere. While the song began, Oola slowly backed away from her Master’s throne, moving to the very furthest end of her leash. Jabba allowed her the slack, letting the fiber tether slide through his hands until he decided she had enough space for her performance. As her restraint went tight and the Sy Snootles voice belted out the opening verse, Oola began to dance.

Lapti Nek was a far more energetic piece then the number she had performed to earlier that day. Oola matched that energy, jumping and spinning from one end of the room to the other with near effortless grace. Each spring sent enticing ripples through her beautiful body and the gauzy outfit she wore could hardly contain the lively movements of her femine assets. Already, just moments into her dance, the slave girl's breasts had bounced free of her costume several times, swaying unrestrained with her lekku and leash. Oola, however, seemed used to these wardrobe “malfunctions”, and each time she would slip the bouncing orb back into her top with practiced ease.

Jabba rocked in his seat, bulbous eyes never leaving his luscious pets nimble form. As the Hutt watched he would gently pull on her tether, using it like a marionette to direct his dancer’s performance. A whip to her leash would cause her to jump and a tug would call her to dance closer to his dais. As she strafed near his throne, Jabba could see the rivulets of moisture still trickling down her thigh from her earlier self-pleasure. Jabba smiled and slopped his tongue out towards her, impatient to taste his slave’s sweet nectar again.

For Oola’s part, she kept her eyes closed, drowning out the jeers and laughter of the perverted creatures around her as she focused on her dance. Even with the chain still around her neck, her dance was one of her few and treasured moments away from her Master, a chance for her to fantasize that she was somewhere...anywhere else in the galaxy. 

Tonight, however, she found her attention drifting back towards the throne, specifically to her Master’s fat tail wriggling amongst the cushions. She shivered at the memory of what it had felt like having the sickening member inside her. How it had stretched and filled her, tainting her with it’s excretions. Anxiety rose in her chest, knowing that as soon as she completed her set she would be pulled back to her Master and forced to serve the grotesque appendage again… to be violated by it everyday that she remained leashed to his side. 

The rest of her life seemed to unfold before her in the clarity of her dance. Oola saw herself waking up each day with her Master’s tail plugging one of her holes, pleasuring him until someone came to take her to the bacta baths to recover. Once her body was healed she would return to dance for him and arouse his appetites, giving herself over to those appetites until her body collapsed..only to wake up the next day and start the cycle anew. 

The thought frightened Oola beyond belief, but it also stimulated darker, unspoken desires within the slave girl's psyche. Already her lekku were beginning to engorge while she danced, nipples hardening as her Twi’lek impulses thrilled at the idea of becoming the submissive pleasure toy for the repulsive slug. 

It distracted her as she pirouetted across the grate, almost losing her footing before she caught herself and finished her spin. Oola quickly refocused, knowing the harsh punishments that awaited her if she made a mistake while dancing for her Master. 

At a certain point in Oola’s routine, Yarna D’algran, a large Askajian dancer, added her slow strutting movements to the performance. Her six sagging breasts offered a stark contrast to Oola’s pair of firm, buoyant globes. As Oola pranced past the older slave, Yarna gave a playful slap to Oola’s backside, her laugh almost as deep as Jabba’s. 

“Lapti Nek! Rataram wizhac, zabalo shakkep!” Sy Snootles belted out the raunchy chorus over the growing crowd, the audience swelling as more came to watch Jabba’s twi’lek slave. As the lyrics of the song and the suggestions from the crowd became more vulgar, so did Oola’s dance. She found the pounding rhythm of the music and swayed pendulously to the center of the stage. In a flowing motion, the dancer lowered herself to the floor and onto her back, lifting her hips into the air and lewdly thrusting them towards her drooling Master’s dais. 

The courtroom howled and Jabba slapped his side in approval. Blushing slightly, Oola used her leash to nimbly pull herself back to her feet, seamlessly returning to her dance. 

The twi’lek kicked her legs out in long athletic steps, building momentum for another jump. She lept and landed with a womanly bounce, just in time to feel her leash go tight and lightly pull on the collar around her neck… urging her to dance closer to her Master. Oola pretended to not notice, wanting to enjoy the limited freedom she had for a little longer. But another firm, more commanding tug came from the throne and as Oola glanced hesitantly towards Jabba, she could tell he did not intend for her to finish her performance.

The Hutt’s bulbous eyes were practically swelling from their sockets as they stared over her, slime and scum coating the rim of his mouth from his excited slobbering. Much to her horror, Oola could also see the skin from his tail beginning to peel back, revealing the tip of his inhuman member and allowing it’s sickly yellow fluid to drip onto the lip of the platform. 

Instinctually Oola reached out and grabbed hold of her chain, taking as much of the length in her hands as she could. She had expected to complete at least three routines before having to return to serve her owner’s whims. Could he not allow her to at least finish her performance before he defiled her again? Had her submission not earned her this small mercy?

With fear contorting her features, she shook her head and backed further away from the throne. “Na! Na Natoota! <No! Not again!>”

Jabba was amused at first, pleased that the dancer still had at least some spirit left. The gangster enjoyed the way that she looked at him, the repulsion and desperation written across her delicate face. He would relish watching it twist in pleasure once she was again mounted on his tail. 

The Hutt gave another substantial pull on her leash, jerking her forward as he roared his demand. “Da Eitha!” 

The lovely alien faltered slightly at the booming sound of her Master's voice but continued to struggle, bracing herself and desperately yanking back on her slave leash as she protested. “ Na Chuba Negatorie” <I beg you to stop!>.

The cruel smile on the hutt's face fell and many in the audience began to sit up and take notice of the disobedient dancer’s rejection. No one refused Jabba the Hutt, least of all one of his half-naked twi'lek sex slaves. His eyes were now dangerous slits as he began to drag violently on her chain pulling her inch by inch closer to him. 

“Boska!” <Now!> He roared, the anger and finality of his order clear for everyone in the room to hear.

And yet Oola still fought back, tears brimming in her eyes, ruining the make-up that had been specifically prepared to his tastes. “Na dat Tresuera! Niuta lorda a twaza kwas pas! <Not that! Please Master have mercy!> She begged.

A shame, the crime lord thought as he watched her writhe against her bondage, bountiful curves nearly escaping from their slim confinements with each passionate attempt to keep away. He had so been looking forward to tearing away that same netting and turning those screams of defiance into ones of unwilling ecstasy. The gathering crowd, however, was hungry for an entirely more violent form of entertainment and had already begun to gather expectantly for what was to come next.

As much as he desired the dancer she had already committed the cardinal sin of defying him. The crowd would be satisfied with nothing less than the harshest punishment.

Oola was hysterical at this point, the weeks of anguish and abuse now fueling her panic stricken outburst. The distraught dancer was so preoccupied with keeping away from her Master’s violating tail that she was unaware of what was happening around her. She was unaware of the crowd drawing in closer around her, unaware of where she was standing as Jabba pulled her close, and even unaware as the Hutt’s chubby arm rose above his armrest.

She noticed it all too late...and before she could react the Hutt lord slammed his closed fist onto the button attached to the throne. Oola heard a loud * _ ka-thunk _ * beneath her and then she was falling, swallowed up by a cold,dark pit.

The dancing girl screamed as she tumbled, head over heels down a rough chute as the light disappeared above her. The descent was long but eventually the tunnel ended and Oola was deposited out into a large, rocky cavern, her lithe figure sprawled amongst the sand covered floor.

Disoriented, her heart still hammering from her struggle and fall, the twi’lek slave took a moment to steady herself and then attempted to stand. She groaned slightly with pain but to her surprise it did not appear that anything was broken or out of place. 

While she had survived her fall, her costume had not been so lucky. The lacy material was absolutely shredded, her top now hanging uselessly at her sides. One of the side straps of her thong had broken as well and the dancer had to hold them together to keep the garment from sliding off. 

But Oola had far larger issues than the state of her whorish dancer’s outfit. It only took her a moment of scanning to recognize the room she had been banished to... She had, after all, spent much of her enslavement dancing over it.

Her breath caught in her chest as the rotten stench of death, both recent and old, reached her nostrils. Skeletal remains of dozens of creatures littered the floor around her, many of which had metal slave collars around their necks just like hers.

Oola could taste the bile at the back of her throat as she stared over the decaying corpses of her predecessors. She knew what this place was. She had seen Jabba send other slaves and underlings to this pit when they displeased him. From her place at her Master’s side she had watched them through the metal grate as they had cowered and pleaded…exactly where she stood now. Oola however, had always been too afraid to witness what happened next. 

She had looked away, fearfully pressing her face into Jabba’s belly or one of the throne’s pillows. But Oola still heard everything… their screaming...the roars of something truly monstrous in the cavern… and then the sickening crunches that finally silenced the sounds from below.

The dancer was aware there was something else here, something terrible and hungry that killed and devoured the unfortunate slaves or smugglers that awoke Jabba’s anger. Panicked, her eyes darted about the room until the sudden sound of her Master’s laughter drew her attention upwards. 

Cut into the stone ceiling above her was a metal grate, the same grill she had danced across just moments ago. Light filtered through the iron bars and the helpless slave could see the gathering faces of the countless monsters that had made the last month a living hell of degradation and humiliation.

They stared back mockingly, cheering and laughing, more excited than she had ever seen them for any of her performances. They wanted to watch her die, she realized. More than they wanted to watch her demeaning dances. More than they wanted to ogle her near naked body. More than they even wanted to defile and molest her.

Through watery eyes Oola looked for an ounce of pity in the gathering crowd. She only found the lust filled gaze of her Master.

Still atop his mobile dais, Jabba salivated as his reptilian orbs roamed over the luscious green curves of his discarded dancer. Each frightened breath she took caused her body to quiver delightfully in the torn remnants of her costume, every exquisite inch exposed through the shredded material. A part of the Hutt could not help but lament at what a tremendous waste of a sumptuous slave this was. He had only just claimed her with his tail and now the foolish slave’s voluptuous figure would only serve to fill the belly of his pet Rancor.

For a moment, he even considered calling an end to the execution and sending his guards to retrieve her. Perhaps her brush with death would finally teach his slave to better appreciate him...

But it was only a fleeting thought… his slaves and underlings needed to be shown the consequences of disappointing him. Oola had been an enjoyable ku’nee but there would be other slaves, just as beautiful and hopefully more amenable to his advances.

As her pleading eyes momentarily met with this, Jabba licked the air before him in a final farewell to his once favored plaything. One last kiss for his lovely Oola. 

Oola whimpered, she could almost feel his warm slime travel across her breasts as the tongue swiped suggestively towards her.

Despite what he had done to her and what he had forced her to do, she realized she would give anything to once again be chained to his throne. Even if it would mean spending every hour of every day wallowing and licking the sludge from his fetid body. Anything to be out of this pit.

She opened her mouth, lips trembling as she prepared to beg for her life. But then, before she could say anything, a metal shrieking came from behind her.

The twi'lek dancer turned, startled as the large iron door at the far end of the cavern began to lift. Horror stricken she could do nothing but stare as something large moved in the shadows from inside this newly opened part of the cave.

Stepping from the inky blackness was a nightmarish creature, a terrifying amalgamation of crustacean and beast. It was the size of a several storied building with claws and teeth the length of her torso, dried gore caking it’s murderous implements.

Oola screamed at the top of her lungs as it’s small hungry eyes fell on her, drool dripping from it’s gleaming fangs. At first her legs wouldn’t move, her body not responding as she tried to tell it to run. It was only when the beast was looming over her, its shadow falling over her cowering form, did she finally find herself moving across the sands.

Desperately she ran towards the chute she had fallen from, hoping to crawl back inside where the creature could not reach her. She stumbled once on a rusted metal brassier, a discarded piece of a long deceased slave’s costume, but kept running desperately to her goal. All the while the crowd cheered from above watching the once graceful dancer make her humiliating streak across the pit, giant tits swinging wildly as she scampered to the far wall.

For Oola, it was like she was moving in slow motion through the sand and she kept feeling as if the creature's claws were closing in around her. But she finally made it to where she had fallen… only to find that bars had closed off her only escape route.

She grasped the bars and frantically pulled on them, sobbing at the hopelessness of her situation. They would not open and now she was trapped. 

Oola looked up again towards her Master with one last improbable hope that he would open the chute and protect her. But Jabba only slobbered and laughed along with the rest of his minions, now fully invested in the final disgraceful performance of his pretty dancing girl. 

It was then that Oola noticed the sharp claws tightening around her lithe form, feeling the sand beneath her feet fall and drop away. She screamed in pure terror as she was hoisted in the air, her legs kicking and body squirming as she tried to get free. It was no use and she was soon brought fully to the monster’s jaws.

The slave looked into the horrific face of the creature and into the soulless eyes that regarded her with mindless hunger. As its mouth of razor teeth began to open she screamed again, long and hopeless, but was soon silenced by the answering roar of her devourer.

It’s putrid breath washed over her struggling form as she was brought closer, drops of spittle collecting across her bare front. The audience howled above her and Oola shook her head in denial at what was happening to her, unable to process that this was how her life would end. It then unceremoniously slid her naked body into its mouth and Oola let loose one final ear piercing shriek before the jaws closed tight.

Her scream died and Oola the slave dancer was no more.

The crowd cheered and applauded enthusiastically, more than pleased with the party's climax. Only Threepio seemed unsettled by the murderous show he had just witnesses. His new Master had just sent his prized possession to her death for the simple act of refusing him. How was he ever to survive this horrible place?

He turned away from the pit, shaking his head worriedly and hoping that Master Luke would arrive to rescue him soon.

From his place on his throne Jabba watched the Rancor finish it’s meal, chortling while he sated his own appetites on one of the paddy frogs from the aquarium next to his arm rest. As the briney amphibian slithered down his throat, he leaned back and belched in contentment. 

He congratulated himself on another successful celebration, with only his lustful desires left unfulfilled. His tail was still hard from Oola’s dance and would need tending to before he retired for the evening. As he considered his options from the bevy of females at his disposal his eyes caught a glimpse of red-hair amongst the crowd. Arica, the talented dancer who had performed just before Oola’s fateful last dance. 

He noticed her pale curves through her diaphanous veils wantonly, licking his lips as he imagined their taste. She had put on quite the performance earlier and with the space on his throne now empty, he would have to start auditioning for Oola’s replacement. 

And if Arica wasn’t worthy then perhaps the rancor would get a second helping tonight. Based on the way it had devoured the green twi’lek, it could probably use an extra meal...

Popping another paddy frog into his cavernous mouth he tilted forward and beckoned her to him, booming his threatening command. 

“DA EITHA!”

…..


End file.
